


Dancing On The Cliff

by Aniaraaa



Category: Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Magical Girls, Murder, Original Character(s), Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aniaraaa/pseuds/Aniaraaa
Summary: Amara as a raid leader in the Branwen tribe, destroying a village.AU Remnant (RWBY) with elements of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Magia Record.





	Dancing On The Cliff

CONTENT WARNING: VIOLENCE, MURDER, BLOOD, SADISM

Dancing on the Cliff

Amara sent a warning to the small Anima village: 'You have 24 hours to evacuate your children, elderly, pregnant women, and anyone else unfit to fight. After that, anyone remaining is fair game for slaughter.'

The time is now up, and she stands atop a hill addressing her raiding party.

"All of you. You are only here to look intimidating to the villagers, so they would take the evacuation warning seriously. Now stay up here and watch. I will take care of the rest."

"If any of you come down and try to help, I will execute you on the spot."

It is daybreak. She goes down the hill to the village gate. Ignoring the orders of the gatekeepers to halt, she blasts open the gate with a wave of violet fire.

She strides proudly into the village square and stabs three people. They fall to the ground, clutching their stomachs and gasping their last painful breaths. She kicks one of them in the head, then nudges them all out of her way with her foot.

A wall of violet flame erupts around her. People start panicking. Archers and snipers shoot at her. She simply stands there, protected by her firewall, glaring malevolently. Her eyes glow violet. Tears pour down her cheeks.

Her expression shows deep concentration, sorrow, and bloodlust. She clasps her hands in front of her in a posture of prayer. The diamond-shaped Gem on her left wrist is dark, the faint purple light within obscured by swirling smokiness.

Amara is deliberately plumbing the depths of her soul, summoning thousands of years worth of pain and rage. This causes her Soul Gem to darken further. And still the violet fire burns around her.

Villagers stare, screaming obscenities at her, calling her 'demon,' 'Witch,' and worse. Throwing rocks, spears, and rotten fruit. It is all consumed by the flame. Others run through the streets in terror, spreading the panic like emotional wildfire.

Good. The confusion, hatred, and fear emitted by the villagers helps. But the strongest source of emotion here is Amara herself, the despair battery at the center of the storm. She is not holding back in her use of magic, which darkens her Soul Gem even further.

She is intentionally dancing close to the edge of the psychic cliff for a reason. To attract Grimm.

The Grimm come. Huge flocks of Nevermores arrive from the four directions, darkening the sky. They descend on the village, ripping wood, bone, and flesh. Claws slash and tear.

Amara does not want the Grimm burning themselves, so the wall of flames disappears and is replaced by a purple translucent dome around her. Terror and dread radiate outward from the ancient Magical Girl like ripples on a pond, blanketing the entire village. It infects the hearts of the villagers, and the emotional stench is irresistible to the Nevermores.

Black beaks snap and shred. Blood and skull fragments fly through the air.

Amara watches the destruction around her, grinning maniacally, fresh tears streaming down her face. The shrieks of the Nevermores, the crunching of bone, the screams of the dying. It is music to her ears.

Finally, the symphony fades. The Nevermores disperse. The village is laid waste. The few unlucky survivors weep in the ruins.

Amara exhales deeply. Her violet shield disappears. She walks over to four survivors who are whimpering on the ground.

Two men and two women, of fighting age. She makes sure they are all watching, then crouches down next to one of the men. Roughly grabbing his hair, pulling his head back, glowering deeply into his eyes. She drives a knife deep into his chest.

She stares at him harshly, watching the light leave his eyes like the sun dipping below the ocean. She savors the sight. She drinks in his last spasm of fear like the intoxicating scent of roses. Feels the warm blood on her hand.

Amara pulls her knife out of the corpse and sheathes it. Then she stands, holding the corpse up in front of her, and looks down at the remaining three villagers, cowering before her.

"Remember what you saw here today!"

She contemptuously flings the corpse to the ground next to the terrified villagers.

"Remember my face! Remember my name! I am Eternal Flame! I am Bitterness! I am the daughter of Cerridwen, of the tribe of Branwen! Tell others what you saw today! Tell them to be afraid! NOW GO!"

The villagers timidly limp away, not even trying to carry the body of their fallen comrade with them.

Only now does Amara take out a Grief Seed and place it next to her Soul Gem, which is dangerously polluted. The Grief Seed takes half a minute to absorb all the impurities.

But finally her Soul Gem is cleansed.

She builds a fire, signaling to the bandits on the hill that they may now come down and search the ruins for valuables.

Later, when she gets back to her tent in the camp, Amara collapses and sleeps for 14 hours.


End file.
